“H’m,” the squire said. He mused a while. We watched him, his stiff crest, the spectacles riding low on his nose. The yellow shape of the window grew slowly across the floor, reached the wall, climbing. Dust motes whirled and slanted. “Six dollars.”
“Six dollars?” Shreve said. “What’s that for?”
“Six dollars,” the squire said. He looked at Shreve a moment, then at me again.
“Look here,” Shreve said.
“Shut up,” Spoade said. “Give it to him, bud, and let’s get out of here. The ladies are waiting for us. You got six dollars?”
“Yes,” I said. I gave him six dollars.
“Case dismissed,” he said.
“You get a receipt,” Shreve said. “You get a signed receipt for that money.”
The squire looked at Shreve mildly. “Case dismissed,” he said without raising his voice.
“I’ll be damned—” Shreve said.
“Come on here,” Spoade said, taking his arm. “Good afternoon, Judge. Much obliged.” As we passed out the door Julio’s voice rose again, violent, then ceased. Spoade was looking at me, his brown eyes quizzical, a little cold. “Well, bud, I reckon you’ll do your girl chasing in Boston after this.”
“You damned fool,” Shreve said, “What the hell do you mean anyway, straggling off here, fooling with these damn wops?”
“Come on,” Spoade said, “They must be getting impatient.”